


Close To You

by vienn_peridot



Series: Citrus Basket [8]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tactile Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rare evening together, a good book and some finial rubbies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close To You

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a bunny that appeared during one of Owen's streams involving (but not limited to) Drift, tentacles and Bob Ross' excellent life advice.

Drift sighed gladly and rested his helm on Ratchet’s chest. It was rare that they both got an evening off together and he suspected collusion on the part of First Aid and Rodimus to give them some quiet time together. Ratchet was reading something aloud, some set of pre-war stories Drift had found and rightly guessed he’d like. Turned out Drift liked them too and Ratchet was quite happy to read them aloud so long as he had a lap-warmer.

_Well, he reads them out if I shove the ‘pad at him and lie on him so he can’t move._

The current story had Ratchet actually doing voices for several different characters, something he only did when he was so engrossed in the story he forgot to be self-conscious. Drift smiled to himself and slid down to let his helm rest on Ratchet’s lap, wishing they had the chance to do this more often.

_This is really nice._

What was even nicer was when Ratchet’s free hand wandered to the top of his helm, fingers stroking gently along the central crest as he continued to read.

Drift let his optics slip offline, engine idling in a happy purr as Ratchet absentmindedly doodled little nonsense patterns on his helm as one of the characters outlined some kind of dastardly scheme. He could feel contentment radiating from the older mech in a way it rarely did when he was awake.

 _If there isn’t a conspiracy to get us nights off like this I’ll_ start _one._

Something in the story made Drift laugh and shake his head, brushing the long white sweep of one audial flare against Ratchet’s fingers. His laugh turned into a pleased moan as Ratchet took that as his cue to move from random helm-petting to deliberate fondling of Drift’s finials.

 _I_ definitely _want more of this._

Ratchet used one finger to lightly trace the edges of his audial flares in a continuous motion as he continued to read. He would start at the base of one, stroke up the bottom edge to the tip, stop there to give it a gentle tweak before going down along the upper edge and across his forehelm to repeat the process in reverse on the other side and come back across. He was well aware of just how sensor-packed Drift’s finials were and those glorious hands managed to find the perfect amount of pressure to send delicious shivers down Drift’s spinal struts.

It was absolutely blissful and Drift practically melted under the medic’s touch, the purr of his engine joined by another one from his vocaliser. Ratchet chuckled and kept up the gentle massage as he read.

Drift tried to pay attention to the story, he really did.

As the petting continued his purring gradually got so loud he had to consciously throttle it back a few times so he could hear what Ratchet was saying. Every time he did he felt the amused rumble of Ratchet’s engine through his lap and he’d tilt his helm back a little to press the back of his finials to the strong thigh so he could feel the vibrations with them. It sent the most delicious wave of tingles through his frame every time and eventually Drift gave up on listening, purring as loud as possible and suddenly dropping it down to a whisper just to hear and feel Ratchet laugh.

“Do you want me to stop?” Ratchet asked, rubbing the end of Drift’s left finial between a finger and thumb. “You seem a bit distracted.”

Drift shook his head, bringing his optics online and giving Ratchet his best turbopuppy optics. He was suddenly aware of a background buzz of arousal filling his frame with a warm glow but felt too lazy to do anything about it.

“You know that theory you have about my finials?” Drift asked, stretching and settling himself more firmly in Ratchet’s lap.

“What, that I could overload you by playing with them?” Ratchet raised an optical ridge. “What about it?”

“We-ell, right now seems to be a good time to test it. Then we can finish the story and afterwards I overload you?” The speedster suggested cheekily, “That is, _if_ you can actually do it.”

Sighing through his vents Ratchet set the datapad aside and gave Drift a stern look. The fingers stroking his finial stilled and Drift had to bite down on a whine at the loss.

“Are you doubting my skills? I thought you knew better than that.” Ratchet teased in a perfectly deadpan tone, a hint of mischief dancing in his Field.

“Bring it on, _Hatchet_.” Drift nudges his finial insistently against the motionless hand. “Your choice of how to have me if you can manage to achieve this miracle of tactile interfacing. If you can’t then I get to decide what to do with you after you finish that story.”

It was no secret how much Drift loved having his finials played with by someone he trusted and with the way they both enjoyed pleasuring eachother the stakes of this little wager no real hardship for either of them. Ratchet’s engine rumbled and Drift tilted his head back to catch the vibrations with his finials again, groaning low in his throat. There was a clicking noise as Ratchet reset his vocaliser.

“You’re on.”

The rough sound of his voice was almost as good as the way he set about methodically simulating every square micrometre of Drift’s finials with both hands, the motions on one side perfectly mirrored on the other. Pure electric pleasure unfolded throughout the speedster’s neural net and he melted under the attention, deliberately forgetting how to control his vocaliser and humming a gratified counterpoint to the louder purr of his engine.

When both finials felt warm and tingly he brought his optics back online – _why do they keep shutting off? He looks so hot when he’s doing this_ \- and smirked up at the medic.

“Is that all you’re got?” He challenged.

Ratchet smirked down at him, a wicked glint in his optics.

“That was the warmup, sweetspark.”

It was all the warning Drift got.

Suddenly both of those legendary hands were doing thing Drift didn’t even know were physically possible and his entire frame ignited in response to the absolute bliss being skilfully drawn from the sensors of his finials. He wailed and his frame arched to thrust his Spark blindly upwards as Ratchet did _something_ with his thumbs to the hidden receptors at the base of the audial flares.

He didn’t know which way was up or down, if he was standing still or racing along at full speed. All he knew was that his finials burned and everything registered as pleasure and it _still wasn’t enough_.

Then it was.

Ratchet drew matching glyphs on the widest part of each white sweep of metal, somehow hitting every single pressure-sensing node they possessed and giving Drift that last sweet nudge to send him into a world consisting of nothing but Ratchet and the waves of ecstasy he would be extremely happy to drown in.

Eventually the overload ebbed to leave Drift limp and gasping through his vents, grinning dazedly up at his very smug lover.

“Wow.” His vocaliser crackled and he reset it before trying again. “Wow.”

_Slag, I think I broke it._

Ratchet’s grin nearly qualified as a full-blown smile. He ran the palm of one hand over the top of Drift’s helm as the speedster captured the other to cover it with kisses.

“I’m never going to doubt your skills again,” Drift breathed against red knuckles and felt Ratchet’s thighs shivered beneath his helm.

“Finish the story now, or…?” Ratchet’s vocaliser was full of static and Drift hauled himself up to straddle the medic’s lap and press their forehelms together.

“Later is fine too, if you’d rather collect now?”

The answer was a very enthusiastic and completely nonverbal but the medic’s Field left no doubt that he was happy to go along with Drift’s suggestion.


End file.
